


decorated emergency

by bangin_patchouli



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bank Robber AU, Bombs, EXO AU, Explosions, Heist AU, I might add tags later, M/M, Mafia AU, i honestly don't know why I'm doing this as my first exo fic I'm posting, kaiyeol - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangin_patchouli/pseuds/bangin_patchouli
Summary: sometimes, shit happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while my brother was watching daredevil and this just kinda happened its 4 am so i hope its okay whoops n yeah i named it after camisado but its okay because I'm delirious a little

* * *

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Sometimes, shit happened. It was in the contract. Robbing banks and dodging bullets always came with a price, or at least something like it. It came with a few scrapes and bruises, and sometimes more. It came with a high, a dark sort of euphoria, too, something that comes around, courses through your veins each and every time you jump into the getaway car after a heist, when the engine revs and the threat of being caught gets farther and farther away with every mile behind you. All of it combined makes it worth it, but it doesn’t stop the hurt when someone you love hangs on the edge of death right in front of you.

 

***

 

     “I think it’s clear,” Jongin whispered, coming around the corner. Chanyeol stood by the door, the weight of his silenced firearm natural in his hands. Chanyeol shifted his alert eyes to Jongin, atoned to words like  _ think _ .

     “You think?” He asked, voice low. It was a low-income, low-concern job, a huge, nearly abandoned building in the older parts of town, so it was a three man team: Jongin and Chanyeol on the inside, and Sehun driving the getaway car. They were to go in, retrieve the locked leather box under the bed, and get out. Should be easy enough, yet Chanyeol was still on edge; something felt off.

     Jongin rolled his eyes, adjusting the grip on his smaller gun. He went forth to the door, a knife and a mere bobby pin in his nimble fingers. It took barely a minute for him to unlock the aged door and let it drift open. Chanyeol looked into the dark room, and felt the familiar press of adrenaline against his chest, but it was tinged with something else, something like a warning. Chanyeol followed after Jongin as stepped into the house. The feeling only set deeper.

 

     It only took seconds. Really, minutes of that uneasy, tainted feeling should have told him something was up, and he should have listened when it told him to  _ get the fuck out, now. _ But he didn’t. Technically, they got the job done, almost; it only took fifteen minutes to get into the master bedroom, unoccupied as they had been told it would be. Jongin, the smaller of the two, had slid under the bed, breathing out a small  _ bingo _ when Chanyeol heard his gloved fingers brush against the old leather of the targeted box. Chanyeol had waited, silent and hyper-aware, while Jongin moved back out, box, larger than Chanyeol had previously thought, held against him. The feeling was coming up fast, like stomach acid after hiding five days in a bare bunker, and Chanyeol had been in a hurry to get the two of them, along with the mysterious box, the hell out of there.

     “Stop,” Chanyeol murmured, holding Jongin back by the arm with his irresponsibly free hand. A small beeping had ominously found its to his ears, feeding the feeling eating away at his skin. “Do you hear that?” Jongin stopped, looking up at him and readjusting his grip on the box; it seemed like it was slipping from his arms.

     Jongin made a face asking  _ hear what? _ And Chanyeol put a fingers to his own lips, signalling total silence. All except for the minatory beeping, the faintest yet most powerful of sounds. Their eyes were locked, and Chanyeol saw it when Jongin finally heard the noise. His questioning eyes changed darkly to panicked familiarity, and Chanyeol saw his own poise mirrored in Jongin’s body. But it was too late.

     The beeping sped up; they both knew what that meant. Jongin, having not been in the business quite as long as Chanyeol, looked, wide-eyed, to Chanyeol for his signature, sudden instruction. Having heedlessly given it, Chanyeol grabbed Jongin’s arm and bolted for the stairs. It got louder and louder, audible over the sounds of the two’s trained, agile running, and Jongin was lagging behind. The weighted box in his hands slowed him down as the pace of the beeps gained speed.

     They were down the stairs; the door was in sight; only a few more paces; Chanyeol felt a few arm-lengths from opening the door to their safety in the form of a four-door Ford mustang. But Chanyeol didn’t feel Jongin behind him anymore. Almost to the door, he whipped around, heart stopping when he saw Jongin falling to the ground after the box at the very foot of the stairs.

     Everything moved in slow motion after that; or at least it seemed like it. Chanyeol attempted to leap forward to grab Jongin, the box forgotten as Chanyeol’s mind was overtaken by the thought of Jongin standing in the line of peril. Before he could reach him though, feet away, the ground shook, and every sound faded to a piercing ringing as the house, previously so quiet, exploded in red. Chanyeol felt hard punch of pain as he slammed against what was most likely the wall. He heard something like his skull crack against the plaster, and he was temporarily overtaken by darkness as he sunk to the floor, still pinned partially to the wall by force of debris. 

     Ringing turned into dead silence with a small, murmuring undertone as he forced his eyes to open and his head to raise. Smoke and flame overtook the quiet aesthetic of the house in the immediate remains of the bomb. Chanyeol instantly grazed his line of sight over the scene. It stuck on a lump the the far left of the stairs, and Chanyeol knew it was him; an unharmed rectangular shape lay unscathed beside him. Chanyeol forced himself up, unaware of the pain in his body, and scrambled to Jongin’s side.

     “Jongin,” he shoved out of his teeth, dropping to his knees beside him. His hands, covered in debris and blood, found their way instantly to Jongin, one on his face and one on his torso. Jongin made no move. “Jongin.” Chanyeol found slight peace in saying his name. 

     This had only happened once before, years ago and before Chanyeol had begun working with Jongin. He remembered it, what had happened and what occurred afterward. Only due to that, he felt it instinctual as to what he needed to do. The only thing is, he was the only one who’d made it out of that one.

     Chanyeol made to lift Jongin, the mission completely and utterly forgotten, his arms sliding under Jongin’s limp body. Chanyeol felt the damage done to Jongin’s limbs and torso as they pressed against his own when he stood. Chanyeol was reminded of the times when he woke Jongin from bed and held him like this in order to complete a random drill or practice. Except Jongin’s body didn’t mold unconsciously to Chanyeol’s this time; he hung loosely as Chanyeol stumbled out into the street, leaving the wreckage and the mission behind, like he had no more muscular control. In blurred vision, Chanyeol managed to find the Mustang in which Sehun waited to escape with them. With one hand, Chanyeol held Jongin’s head inherently against his shoulder, where his collar bone resided. The rest after that was mostly a blur; Chanyeol remembered the ringing in his ears outplaying the sound of Sehun’s voice as he inevitably asked  _ what the fuck happened? _ . He remembered Jongin’s head in his lap and the dull fear that overtook his whole body as he failed to look away from Jongin’s insensible face like he was never going to see it again.

 


End file.
